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<title>While The Cockroaches Watch On by colisahotnorthernmess</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129559">While The Cockroaches Watch On</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess'>colisahotnorthernmess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Simpsons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Drinking to Cope, Falling In Love, Ficlet, First Time, Heartache, Kissing, M/M, Talking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:49:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story which takes place on that fateful night, where Waylon is rejected by Mr. Burns and ends up drinking in Moe's bar. But what if Smithers was then quickly distracted from his misery by the sweet bartender?</p><p>This story follows a divergence of canon, where Smithers forgets all about impressing Mr. Burns, and instead finds himself charmed by Moe and his dingy bar, and finds them perfect just the way they are.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Waylon Smithers/Moe Szyslak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>While The Cockroaches Watch On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey, you there. I ain't seen you round here before," a strained, nasally voice emerged from the darkness, and a face as equally wizened came into view, dimly lit by the lights which hung over the pool table. It wasn't hard for Szyslak to miss the man in question; the tavern was, as it so frequently seemed to be, empty - and the figure sat at the end, hunched over a small glass of scotch.</p><p>"Well, it's not every day you realise that the love of your life doesn't want you back," the figure - Waylon Smithers - bowed his head in despair. "Only on about... hmm... ninety-nine percent of the days, actually," he lifted his head and smirked, "And, on even fewer of those days, when the cold-hearted bastard is cruel enough to actually tell you to your <em>face</em> that your love will never be returned? Those are the days when you want to drown your sorrows in cheap liquor. The darkest days."</p><p>"Oh, I... should have guessed," Moe shrugged - provided an embarrassed chuckle which almost gave him away. As if <em>he</em> would recognise the signs of a broken heart; as if he'd ever been fortunate enough to have given his heart away for someone to even <em>break</em>. "I wrote the book on love hurt," he bragged, trying to put on a show, and sounding like the stereotypical, over-confident barkeep, who would chew up scores of women and spit them out for fun.</p><p>"Yeah?" Waylon looked up at him through his glasses; the lenses were smudged with numerous fingerprints from where he was constantly nervously fiddling with them. But Moe couldn't lie to that honest and open face. His brow, already heavily creased with deep lines to begin with, became furrowed with anxiety.</p><p>"Nah," Szyslak waved the dirty, beer-stained rag, "I ain't never had no one." He was so ashamed by the confession, he simply stared at bar.</p><p>"Then what you say is the truth, friend," Smithers chimed in, offering his glass, "You really <em>did</em> write the book."</p><p>"Maybe youse is right about that," Moe chewed his lip.</p><p>"Something which often helps to heal a broken heart - is the kindness of strangers, I think," Waylon traced the rim of his tumbler, never once taking his eyes off of the bartender's. The circling finger made its way over to Moe's wrist, sampling the skin there.</p><p>"Ah. I don't--" Szyslak started to protest, but soon found himself cutting off his own objections. Moe didn't <em>what</em>? Moe didn't want the opportunity to feel any sort of affection at all from another human being, just because they happened to be <em>male</em>? He didn't know what to say now, so he thought it best that he said nothing at all. The proprietor of the business simply attended to his job and reached for the empty drink. "Let me get cha another," he murmured, allowing his knuckles to graze against the other man's bare arm, the shirt having been rolled to the elbow.</p><p>"No... No, it's fine," Smithers groaned, staggering to his feet and almost knocking the bar stool over, "I should be heading--"</p><p>"--Look. Why don't cha stay? Please," Moe responded, immediately steadying him, "I'm... I'm <em>interested</em>."</p><p>He found Waylon raising his eyebrows in surprise. "In your story," he amended his words. "In... in... in <em>you</em>," he then clarified, at first not wanting to seem too forward, but then changing his mind nearly as quickly; Moe had waited his entire life to meet someone who had genuinely wanted to spend the night with him, even if it was just to chat. And, as he well knew, it would be a damned long night - because his nights always <em>were</em>. But Waylon had a damned long tale to tell. <em>So did he</em>. Maybe their reminiscing would even spill over into daybreak. Maybe they would see in the new day still talking, whilst lying in each other's arms.</p><p>"You know," Smithers began, "This place isn't like the kind I usually go to." He glanced around from corner to corner, surveying the dingy, run-down establishment.</p><p>"Yeah, dem fancy joints don't got the mice, the cockroaches and the pickled eggs," Moe laughed, in a self-deprecating manner, as he wiped out a glass.</p><p>"No. I mean that it's got <em>character</em>, and <em>heaps</em> of charm - like its owner," Waylon smiled, warmly, and the older man paused for a second; he had been peering into the receptacle he was cleaning, holding it up to the light and checking for specks of dirt - now, it merely looked as though he was trying to find a place to hide in the bottom of the glass. But there was nowhere to run from his growing feelings.</p><p>"Just whatever you do, Moe, don't change this place," Smithers told him. "Don't change a thing - full stop," he added, with a whisper, pulling Szyslak forward by his scruffy apron and placing a daring kiss on his lips.</p>
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